Chapter 3

“YOU JUST MISSED THOR, I’m afraid,” said Kate Schechter. “He suddenly went off in a fit of Nordic angst about something or other.”

She waved a hand vaguely at the gaping, jagged hole in the window that overlooked Primrose Hill. “Probably gone to the zoo to stare at elks again. He’ll turn up again in a few hours, full of beer and remorse and carrying a large pane of glass that won’t fit. So he’ll then get upset about that and break something else.”

“We had a bit of a misunderstanding on the phone, I’m afraid,” said Dirk. “But I don’t really know how to avoid them.”

“You can’t,” said Kate. “He’s not a happy god. It’s not his world. Never will be, either.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Oh, there’s plenty to do. Just repairing things keeps me busy.”

It wasn’t what Dirk meant, but he realised she knew that and didn’t probe. She went into the kitchen to fetch the tea at that point anyway. He subsided into an elderly armchair and peered around the small flat. He noticed that there was now quite a collection of books on Norse mythology stacked on Kate’s desk, all sprouting numerous bookmarks and annotated record cards. She was obviously doing her best to master the situation. But one book, buried about four inches into the wall, and obviously flung there by superhuman force, gave some idea of the sort of difficulties she was up against.

“Don’t even ask,” she said, when she returned bearing tea. “Tell me what’s going on with you instead.”

“I did something this afternoon,” he said, stirring the pale, sickly tea and suddenly remembering that, of course, Americans had no idea how to make it, “that was incredibly stupid.”

“I thought you seemed a bit grim.”

“Probably the cause rather than the effect. I’d had an appalling week, plus I had indigestion, and I suppose it made me a bit . . .”

“Don’t tell me. You met a very attractive and desirable woman and were incredibly pompous and rude to her.”

Dirk stared at her. “How did you know that?” he breathed.

“You do it all the time. You did it to me.”

“I did not!” protested Dirk.

“You certainly did!”

“No, no, no.”

“I promise you, you . . .”

“Hang on,” interrupted Dirk. “I remember now. Hmm. Interesting. And you’re saying I do that all the time?”

“Maybe not all the time. Presumably you have to get some sleep occasionally.”

“But you claim that, typically, I’m rude and pompous to attractive women?”

He wrestled his way up out of the armchair and fished around in his pocket for a notebook.